They found San Felipe well-nigh emptied of its able-bodied men; those not out in the fields had gone up to Washington, where the convention of March first already was gathering. The quarrel between the governor and the council was to be settled; and it was rumored that a declaration of independence from Mexico was to be passed. Governor Smith had gone. General Houston would be back from his trip to the Cherokees.
So they found San Felipe quiet, save for its anxiety to ask: “What about Travis at Bejar?” And when with their message they answered the questions, speedily San Felipe was aroused as Gonzales had been. Expresses were sent scouring to summon the Brazos settlers, and within an hour the Travis call to the government was on its way again, by new and stronger hands, to the gathering at Washington, fifty miles up-river.
“I’m all in,” admitted Dick, drooping. “We’ve done our best, the boy and I. We’ve got to rest a night. Hurry on, hurry on. Maybe we’ll go up in the morning; one of us, anyway.”
Ernest it was who went. In the morning he felt keen and able once more. Dick was still laid up, but urged him to leave.
“If there’s a declaration of independence, I want you to hear it,” he said. “There’ll have to be one. Houston says that’s the only way, now; and so does Austin. We can’t get the help we need from the United States unless we stand on our own bottom. Then the word of Texas will mean something. Now Santa Anna’ll never let us be a state even. We must fight for independence and not for the constitution. And you’ll see Houston. Make yourself known to him. He’ll remember you. Tell him of the doings at Gonzales. Tell him you’ve just come from there, and that the people all along the route need him.”
That evening of February 28, Ernest rode, weary and dusty again, into the town of Washington on the Brazos. It was filling up with people: there were a few volunteers attached to the regular army, and encamped, and many settlers attracted by the convention. The visitors had tethered their horses and had spread their blankets in the open. The Alamo already seemed to be on every tongue, but nobody was preparing to leave. All were waiting.
Ernest sought a good spot; then he sought Sam Houston. He quickly sighted him seated on the porch of the tavern, surrounded by a group of men. No one could fail to pick Sam Houston out of any crowd. Ernest elbowed in to him.
“Well, my boy?” queried the general, as Ernest stood before him, eyed by the little crowd. “Do you wish to speak to me? Excuse me, gentlemen.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Ernest, saluting. “I’m Ernest Merrill, from Gonzales. I knew you at Fort Gibson, too.”